At the start of the gray afternoon, in the county of George de Prince, in Maryland, on a block lined with car dealerships, tire stores and a hair salon that slowly flows the wave of cane and latto, the streets are silent that the crunchy leaves under my sneakers sounds like thunder. It is a modest setting, perfect for Paco Panama to stay hidden in the studio, he calls a second house. Shortly traveling from his roots in Washington, DC, he knocks Bobby Womack discs on Youtube with his main producer and engineer, Coltcaine, by his side. They are looking for one to go back to a warm beat to hear the sagas of the difficult crime that highlighted Paco as an experienced veteran of the Street DMV scene.
Paco and Colt communicate almost telepathically, ending the other’s sentences and telling comic stories as aness. “All we’re talking about this week is Bobby Womack,” said Colt, clicking on FL Studio at his integrated office. “Let me tell you his story, Bro. Well, he was cool with singer Sam Cooke, and Sam finished being murdered in a motel room. »»
“Then, a few months later”, continues Paco, looking at Colt’s shoulder, “Bobby Womack married Sam Cooke’s old woman. He even introduced himself to Sam’s funeral in one of his old costumes and all that. »»
They sneer, as if it were their favorite treat in musical history to tell anyone who listens. “Then, a few years later,” followed Colt, “he came out that Bobby was sleeping with Sam’s daughter.”
“Yeah, all the moving niggas were viscous dogs,” added Paco. “Cry and drunk and shit, ranging from platinum to tooth. »»
